


Altered Souls, Rejoined Halves

by Shamira_Cobblepot



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Crime Scenes, Drugs, F/M, Fanfiction, M/M, Multi, Murder, Reminiscing, Scotland Yard, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10051502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamira_Cobblepot/pseuds/Shamira_Cobblepot
Summary: The ex army doctor has already begun his new life out of 221B with his fiancée but finds it difficult to get along with the thoughts that keep rambling on whilst Sherlock himself tries to push back the memories and feelings for John as well. But are things going to be just the same or lead to something unexpected for others as well as themselves?





	1. A Wild Dream

 

The misty veil that covered the quiet streets of London was yet to lift when John slowly opened his eyes. It took a few moments for the doctor to realize that the slender hand resting on his chest was not of someone whom he dared to imagine about, following the short yet detailed dream he had just woken up from. 

It was all so quiet around him that he could even hear his own breathing, the air entering and exiting his lungs. A faint sound of the clock was flowing inside- the only thing that he could define as company. He wanted to turn to his left side but he did not want to disturb Mary either. She seemed to be in full ease, diving deep into the sea of slumber. Letting out a soft sigh, he shifted his eyes from his fiancée toward the ceiling. The dream was somewhat ridiculous, yet there was something he could not but think about.

 

 

It was the time when he used to be the flat mate of Sherlock- solving crimes, saving lives, and of course, blogging. There were many mornings when he had to wake up and immediately get to work without even swallowing a morsel, many nights when they were storming the streets of London, rushing to different places looking for clues and criminals- no matter how late or how odd the hour could be. That thrill of the chase, blood rushing through his veins, the tension, the adventure- those were the days!

The two of them were standing on a mound one bright morning, their eyes fixed on a rivulet a few yards away below them. Soft spring breeze blew through the leaves, creating a sweet, murmuring sound that added another level of tranquil in the atmosphere. Sherlock remained mute, standing in his usual smart pose with a face lacking expressions. Like many other times, this was just another moment of ease before going on a chase. A moment when Sherlock usually thinks and analyses the entire plot in front of his eyes while breathing in the atmosphere around him. But this morning seemed a little...different. He somehow felt that Sherlock was not into one of his thinking moments rather something he seems to be secretive about. But it was known to John that keeping silence was the best thing for these types of moments; even though his stomach was bulging with a load of questions by now. At last, the detective was the one to break the silence.

 

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you see the bushes behind those fields? There's a route behind which leads straight out of this place, towards the Highlands.”

“Oh?” The doctor frowned a little in confusion, “never heard of that one.”

The small smirk curving up one corner of Sherlock's lips did not escape John's eyes, leaving him furrowing his eyebrows the same way in the first place. Slowly, the detective turned his neck to look at the straight haired man. “A perfect way to disappear, unnoticed.”

“I'm sorry, what?” John blinked a few times while throwing a confused look at the detective.

“Impossible to remain undetected without a proper camouflage or a reference though. Obviously there’ll be a scene to watch in 221B. The entire London will be surprised.”

He gazed back at the horizon, not permitting the smirk to leave right away.

“You mean disappearing from here to the Highlands...?” John furrowed his eyebrows deeper as he stared at the tall man. “Don't tell me that you're gonna play dead once again, Sherlock. Or are you?”

“Who said we're going to Highlands?” Sherlock asked with a hint of amusement. “Neither dead nor alive.” His face slowly lost the smirk as a clear smile took its place. “We shall disappear from Baker Street, from London itself.”

“But where to? Any reason or plan in particular?” John looked away for a few seconds before looking at him frowning in confusion once again. “And we… What do you mean by _us_?”

Sherlock exhaled softly while rolling his eyes, “Who else but the two of us?”

John scoffed a little while looking away, trying to piece up all of what this man had just said. Disappear? Just the two of them, from England?

“You're saying that we're gonna leave everyone and everything behind and just vanish into thin air? Like what you did two years ago?” He asked with a hint of both confusion and surprise.

“Hmm.”

“And why would we do that? Is this some 'part of a plan’ sort of thing or-”

“No, it’s not.”

“Leave everything... Everyone including Ma-”

“What else do you mean by _just us two_?” Sherlock turned around with a soft smile. “You and I: the Dynamic Duo.”

John could not but look directly into his magnificent bluish gray eyes.

“And Mycroft? Won't he-”

The man in the coat took a step forward, only a few inches apart from the doctor.

 

“Forget everyone, forget everything. Just the two of us, John. That's what they do right? They forget everything around them except themselves.” His tall figure leaned forward, closer to the doctor's ears and whispered. “When everything turns against them and a break is essential.”

 

Sherlock's deep whisper echoed back and forth in his ears as he felt a soft yet tender press of lips on his cheek whilst he slowly closed his eyelids.

 

 

He opened his eyes shortly afterwards, only to look at the ceiling of his bedroom. Just for one moment he imagined and hoped the dream to continue, resulting in him mistaking the hand on his chest not his fiancée’s but Sherlock's. But soon after the haze cleared away, he realized that it was nothing more than a dream... a wild dream.

He could not sleep well for the next few hours- shifting every now and then, looking at the window and eagerly waiting for the sun to rise.

 

 

“You look a little absent, John. Is everything alright?” asked Mary.

 

“Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be going to Baker Street after I’m finished with the work and probably will be a little late.” He spoke while taking his last bite of the breakfast.

“Oh, and tell Sherlock I said hi.” With a smile, she walked into the kitchen. “Mrs. Hudson as well.”

“Alright.”

At the precise moment when John placed his empty cup on the table, his phone jingled- a text.

_Meet me at Bart's morgue.-SH_

 

He let out a small sigh and went out to get a cab after kissing his fiancée goodbye.

 

Just the usual scene- the tall man in black coat bending over a pale dead body while checking every single detail with the help of his magnifying glass.

 

“Molly said that he was found shot by the riverbank.”

“Hmm. Strangled and then shot.”

John walked closer to the body, furrowing his eyebrows. “He looks kind of familiar.”

“Obviously. Remember when I posed as an addict? He yelled at you when you and Mary were dragging me outside into the car.”

“Oh, yes.” The doctor gave a nod in the affirmative, allowing an amused scoff as the scenery popped up before his eyes. The first time Mary saw him in that state.

“He had a note in his pocket bearing the words, _Very sorry._ Look at your left.”

John turned to see a small, handwritten note locked up in a plastic bag on the table.

“Clearly not his handwriting. He’s left handed.”

“Any suspects yet?” John asked in a low voice while examining the letters.

“We're going to the building with Lestrade to have a look.” Sherlock mused, knowing it's pointless to ask John whether he shall accompany him because it's already certain that he will.

 

By the end of the day, the case was on the verge of being closed by the detective. The new problem, however, was that the suspect mysteriously died in custody a few minutes after the duo had left the Yard.

“Someone poisoned him through skin contact.” John spoke while carefully examining the back of the man's hand along with Sherlock.

“Yes, annoying as it sounds, there’s someone in the Yard who is a part of the killer gang.” The detective lowered his tone while turning to look at the Detective Inspector, Greg Lestrade standing behind them.

“A gang? And how is that even possible without anyone noticing at all?” Inspector spoke in an annoyed tone while Sergeant Donovan stood still, crossing her arms.

An hour later the duo was seen back in their flat of 221B. While Sherlock was racing his fingers on his laptop and looking at the texts on his phone; John was sitting on his armchair and going through the profile of the addict. But something was making him feel a tad bit uncomfortable every time he looked at the busy man who was keenly studying the information sent by Lestrade a while ago. But what was it?

_“Is this because of…the dream? Damn! What the hell am I thinking!?”_

For two minutes, John went on lecturing himself on abandoning the bizarre thoughts and concentrate on the case.

 

“Did you notice how Dr. Watson was looking at the freak today?” Donovan asked in a casual manner.

Hearing the question, Molly stopped the last test she was running to detect more of the poison and looked up at the sergeant who was sent to receive the file after the test was done. “What do you mean?”

“Our doc seemed a little different today, don't you think? Ever since they had entered the office room, I've been noticing him often staring at Holmes."

“Oh, well, what's so odd about that?” Molly took another pipette and slowly dropped another chemical on the specimen of blood.

Sally remained quiet until the reports found their place in her hands in form of a file. “As if something different than the usual stuff has happened. The doctor, whenever talking with the freak seemed to be lost and back every now and then.”

“Perhaps John’s been thinking about something else.” The pathologist replied with a typical shrug and the usual smile.

“Could be…who knows?”

“And he’s not a freak, by the way.”

Donovan let out a sarcastic smirk at Miss Hooper in reply.

 

Sherlock's fingers swiftly traveled across the keyboard while his eyes scrutinized the screen. An underground organization is something Holmes was always keen to know more about but somehow they always managed to leave a hint of mystery that kept the detective thinking and thinking. The murderer was certainly, a mere worker- as the detective had already assumed before going through his mails and texts. John had finally managed to put full concentration into the work. They were very close to unveil this mysterious organization they've been in search of for quite a long time. All on a sudden, Sherlock grabbed his coat and whirled it around him without uttering a word.

“Where are you going?” John stood up to see the detective fully dressed.

“Out. You stay here.”

“But Sherlock-”

The detective did not give him a chance to speak as he stormed out of the room and stepped outside in no time. Letting out a sigh, the doctor walked near the window only to see his companion getting on a taxi hastily and head to the left.

“Another case?” Mrs. Hudson's lively voice broke the silence that rested on the room.

“Yeah, another one.” he nodded in brief. “How've you been, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Oh I'm doing well dear. How's Mary?”

“She's great,” John let out a small, polite smile at the old lady. “Mrs. Hudson, could you make me some tea, please?”

“Sure, I was about to make some for myself anyway.” Sharing a nod and a brief smile with the man she headed for downstairs.

 

The sun had set almost three hours ago, and John has been sitting all the time in his armchair, his eyes fixed on the screen of his laptop. Mary paid a visit a while ago- surely a relief from the endless boredom, but also a little annoying because of the continuous chit chat of Mrs. Hudson. He had finished two cups of tea already and was about to pour himself another and right then, his phone rang. It was Lestrade who too, was unaware of Sherlock's whereabouts and complained that he isn't receiving any response from him after a call drop. John ended the conversation with a knot on his eyebrows.

_“What the hell is he up to??”_

It was almost twelve at night when Mary was insisting on coming with him but he simply asked her to return home with a loving smile, assuring her that he will return as soon as Sherlock comes back. He could have gone with her, maybe stayed with her for a while and then return once again or go to the Yard but he simply did not feel like it, not today. Strange but despite his hunger, he refused to enjoy the dinner Mrs. Hudson had prepared for them. He ate very little, and drank a cup of coffee before heading upstairs once again, thinking of trying Sherlock on his cell phone.

While he stood near the window long after seeing his fiancée disappear in the turning of the streets on a taxi, his phone buzzed once more. A text from Sherlock.

_Meet me on St. James's station.-SH_

Without hesitation, John left the flat after having a word with the landlady.

Many police cars were parked in front of the entrance of the station when John left the taxi cab. Donovan was standing nearby, talking with two other policemen. The others were still inside.

“Doctor Watson. I was waiting for you.”

“Me? What's going on in there?”

“You're not gonna believe this. Things have turned out to be far deeper than expected.”

The doctor was a little surprised to see a good number of corpses lying on the station floor as he stepped over the crime scene tape. Lestrade was standing beside a tall, bearded, blonde man dressed in poor, shabby clothes. John did not notice the man's face properly until he stepped closer to the two. To his surprise, it was Sherlock disguising in such manner.

 

The next moments were of listening to Sherlock’s monologue for both John and Lestrade- how Sherlock got into all these, consequently solving the murder.

 

The first place he went to was the same flat where they had visited early in the morning accompanied by Wiggins- both in disguise and it was already obvious that no one could detect the duo. After gathering ample information about everyone and particularly of the two addicts who were too damned to care about the newcomers, Sherlock decided to spend the rest of the time inside.

When the two addicts mysteriously disappeared, as a part of their routine, in the darkness of the night, Sherlock and Wiggins managed to creep out of the flat and keep up to their tails undetected. Despite those multiple times when the two got lost in the way, they finally managed to get out with the help of the homeless network. Yes, a bunch of people spreading like a net across the streets of London, mingling in the public unnoticed, yet they are the ones who have been playing an important role from the very beginning of this investigation.

As an approval to his primary deductions there _was_ someone in the Yard disguised as a clerk and roaming around without drawing much attention. The man, who poisoned the addict and the clerk, was a part of a group that had successfully committed various crimes in many countries across the world and had finally set their foot here in London. The head of the group- Joe, was in search of some low lives in order to build up a new network, but accidentally bumped into the wrong person- which resulted in the addict losing his life one night near the river. The leader knew what would occur; since Sherlock Holmes himself is going to investigate hence he decided to take the matter in his hands this time- choosing the Yard itself to begin with. Just as planned, he took the post of a clerk last month, and tried to pull the job.

But to his utter shock, the detective himself had managed to reach their hideout near the station at night.

The rest was just a matter of marksmanship and fistfights. Luckily, Sherlock had the potential for being a good boxer and Wiggins with his crafty moves managed to knock down a few of them.

“Your clerk is tied up with his companion right there.” Just as Sherlock finished his sentence, Sergeant Donovan ran up to Lestrade, informing his about the two men who were still alive.

John and others present there heard the quick descriptions with mute amazement. Then, giving the detective a nod, Lestrade turned around to give the others further instructions. Leaving the rest upon the hands of the Yard, Sherlock and John walked out of the crime scene- just like the old days.

“Dinner?” Sherlock asked in brief, eyeing the doctor.

“Sure…I wouldn't have been starving like this if I'd have listened to Mary.”

“....Hmm....” The taller one remained mute for the rest of the path, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. The subject of Mary was something he did not really expect to hear, not at this moment.

Things were not the same anymore. Despite the sentences like ‘I don't have _friends!_ ' or 'Just leave me alone!' was not something he actually meant these days. It's just that he wanted to be on his own, like he had always loved to be. But, the presence of John himself was something he required on the process.

Surely one may ask, “And how do you remain alone while another person is present in your flat already?”

_That's the point. I like to remain on my own while John shall sit on his armchair, eyes locked upon screen of his laptop- either typing out one of our cases in his blog or looking for a new case to feed me with..._

Sherlock did not utter a single word on the whole way, just listening to him talking about a thing or two- mostly about what happened in 221B during his absence. Surely John knew that his companion was not very interested in hearing but again, he did not have much to talk about but he was really eager to talk to Sherlock today.

The dinner was rather shorter than Sherlock had expected. While they were halfway in the middle of one of their low pitched yet fun conversations after quite a long time, Mary called- asking her husband to return home for she was feeling ill and had already thrown up couple of times.

“I gotta go, Mary's not feeling well.” He said while hurrying up from his seat, “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“....Okay....” Sherlock turned his neck a little to look at John getting on a taxi. Then, letting out a barely audible sigh, he finished off the rest of his late night dinner and returned back to his flat in 221B.

He did not even bother to put on his blue evening robe even in the cold weather before comforting himself in the couch. Beside him stood the fireplace in which the dimly lit fire crackled on its own, dimly illuminating Sherlock's blank face.

 

_Something's missing. Something has terribly gone wrong.... But what was it? It's been long since John had left and I still have not managed to get out of this. Nobody's like him. No one. He's just....himself._

 

“John Hamish Watson.” Sherlock muttered, throwing his blank gaze at the wall.

His tall, slim figure quivered from the chilling cold of December. He remembered a night when he and John decided to go through a competition to see who can stay awake for most of the part. No doubt that it was he who won, for John fell asleep on the verge of winning.

“A few more minutes and I could've won...” John sighed and then let out a chuckle on his own. “Like the hare.” John's soft yet amused laughter left the detective frowning in a slight amount of confusion. “What?”

“The hare? I-I don't get it.” Sherlock blinked a few times, furrowing his eyebrows deeper.

“The hare and the tortoise- remember? One of the most famous fables...”

The one with the curly hair let out a sigh, unable to appear at the same point. “Fable?” He sighed deeper as he laid his back on the back of the couch. “Not really...”

“God! That's children’s fable Sherlock. Almost every child on the earth knows this one!”

“You know that I only keep the information that is important. Like, really important." He sat straight, pressing his right index finger to his skull. "This hard drive contains information that is _really, really_ useful. Rather than everyone else who tend to store each and every junk they encounter with in their daily lives. This is why people fail to see the details. Fail to observe and act like a buffoon.”

“And that is why they need you, Sherlock. If everyone were just the way you are, then you wouldn't have made the difference.” John said in a gentle voice.

“Ah yes, the great Sherlock Holmes wouldn't exist then!” He scoffed and leaned his back on the couch once again, crossing his arms. “And the fable you spoke of, what is it about?”

“Oh dear Lord...” John whispered to himself and nodded. “Well, it's about a hare and a tortoise who decide to run a race. Whoever would reach the finish line first…”

The story continued to roll on while the clock struck three. In the end, Sherlock did realize the reference his friend had made and also, figured out the exact ending of the story, leaving both to share an easy laughter. Both of them woke up on the night before at two, and after the case was closed by one at the next night, they decided to see who can stay up till another hour passes. Surely it was unusual for someone like Sherlock who would sit for an entire hour without doing anything at all- apart from the paper cuttings which he was going through while keenly examining John every now and then. The doctor kept himself busy with his blog, but soon dozed off- announcing accuracy to the detective's assumptions.

And just between the differences of a few months, now he is sitting on the same couch, at the same time: two thirty at night, same room. In front of him stood that very armchair where his companion used to sit; but the only thing missing was- John himself.

He let out sigh, thinking about the day when he and John had a mild argument in Baskerville. That very moment when they stood on a lane under the cloudy sky, when he replied rudely to John’s question that he had no ‘friends’. But then, he had to realize it to himself for one more time he’s got just one to call his own.

_I've just got one...you. Yes you, John. You were always there....._

 

**(To Be Continued)**

 


	2. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In recognition to their top notch service, Sherlock and John are awarded in a grand dinner. The detective meets a familiar face whom he once and still, dislikes and John gets to spend time with his old chap. Sherlock's ramblings continue as John remains occupied with his fiancee which later takes form of a medley that leaves John drowning into thoughts once again.

The luxurious cars of various high class models drove around the magnificent stone sculpture of the Greek goddess Athena as their owners, dressed in formal attire, climbed the stone steps toward the entrance of a grand hall. A magnificent chandelier hung above their heads, illuminating the white, marble floor. Delicate sculptures, lavish furniture, and of course, artificial miniatures of cascades were nothing but a part of the history and antique-lover’s paradise. The humongous yet delicate exterior and interior structure of the building created a form of awe and fascination amongst each and every of the guests, except one though.

He was standing on one corner of the great hall where his dear annoying elder brother had just dragged him into such a boring conversation with some of the high officials. Despite the chattering of the people beside and in front of him, Sherlock's eyes kept darting around the entire area, doing what he liked to do the most- to observe and deduce.

_That woman has recently had a haircut but is not so sure, whether she looks good enough. The act of running the fingers through her hair shows that doubts self-consciousness and nervousness. A perfectionist she is, dog lover, business tycoon._

_Man with gray hair- ex army officer, no doubt. Currently upset about something regarding his son who has been maintaining a distance ever since their arrival hence trying to keep things normal by engaging into conversations now and then. His son is pretending to remain indifferent although he himself is not very comfortable._

_Tan skinned, dark haired- high likely an Indian, not very comfortable with the persons standing beside him and joining their conversation, rather preferring to have a word with that lady standing over there, dressed in blue, also Indian. Both are diplomats from the Indian consulate..._

The mental calculations prevailed for the next fifteen minutes until the conversation finally ended and the men parted, leaving Sherlock and Mycroft standing beside each other with their blank faces.

 

“You know it's not very nice to look around and pretend to listen when you're actually not.” Mycroft eyed his brother, “especially when you're speaking with the government officials of both England and foreign countries.”

“That’s the part of your job, not mine.” Sherlock replied with nonchalance, still shifting his gaze while his brother shot an annoyed glance at him.

The younger Holmes was sincerely hoping for someone to pop up once again and begin chitchat with his brother. Luckily, his wish had come true. A man came up to them and whispered something in Mycroft's ear, making him leave his brother and walk toward the other side.

     What Sherlock was desperately in search of was his friend, John Watson. He was with Sherlock when they arrived but the two separated when Mycroft called him for joining the conversation and he had to leave the doctor with his wife. After a few more minutes, he finally detected the doctor standing near a pedestal, engaged in a conversation with the same gray haired man about whom Sherlock made deductions in the beginning.

"Mr. Holmes, It's a pleasure to meet you." The man smiled politely at the detective.

Sherlock put on a fake bright smile in reply and nodded.

"This is Captain Phillips, ex-"

Sherlock interrupted, “Ex army officer, yes. You were in the troops of Afghanistan and returned wounded with a broken arm. This explains why the two of you are acquainted with each other. Currently you are going through some sort of conflict with your son who's standing over there.” Sherlock turned his eyes from the son back on the man within a few seconds who was still staring at the detective in disbelief. “High likely your son is having an affair with his P.S. who's standing right beside him, dressed in black. Certain that you are not pleased with it and already had a conversation about this with him before arriving here, which I assume did not go much well. Shame that he’s adamant to his own choice, and if I may add, you’ve missed your pills for BP problems today morning and took it later on. This afternoon, to be precise.”

John stood still with his arms crossed while shifting his eyes between the man and his friend. The descriptions seemed to be perfectly accurate, leaving the old chap startled and a little annoyed. Nevertheless, what was bigger- John started to feel a tinge of embarrassment due to all the remarks his friend had just made, after all, this old man was one wonderful and brave leader to the doctor.

Sherlock did not miss to notice the features of John and decided to pause for a moment. Nevertheless, he was enjoying this, at least, which is better than doing nothing aka keeping the brain idle.

“Oh and, Captain, you have forgotten your medicines for a certain type of skin allergy you’ve been suffering from. Hence, the skin rashes those are re appearing around your neck once again. Don’t worry John; it doesn’t seem contagious because if it really were, he would not have attended the dinner tonight. Also, while stepping out of your car and walking across the pavement you accidentally stepped on the small puddle, your shoes still have a few dry stains, you might want to go clean that up and-”

“Enough, Mr. Holmes, thank you very much.” The man cut off in the middle in a straight voice. “Seems like, Captain Watson was not wrong at all.” After letting out a forced polite smile, the officer walked across the hall, leaving the two standing in front of a pedestal.

“He’s going for the washroom, isn’t he?”

“Hmm.”

 

After a short span of time, all the guests sat on their respective seats around the dinner tables as a female voice requested the guests to welcome a man named Ferdinand Rogers on the stage. A tall, broad sized man with pale white skin took his position behind the microphone with a grin on his face. “Good evening, ladies, and gentlemen. It is an honor to-”

The next few minutes of the speech went the usual way of showing gratitude to the guests for their attendance and then the man describing a Turkish jewelry box made out of gold and ivory that were robbed during one of their auctions. The guests continued to listen to the owner of Roseberys Fine Art Auctioneers with profound attention while Sherlock and John exchanged a few glances. After all, the duo succeeded to get to the robbers and rescue the artifact when the police were almost lost in the maze.

“Now I would like to call the two heroes- Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson on the stage.”

Several hands clapped in front of them as they stood beside Mr. Rogers. A man appeared behind the owner, holding a tray covered with a red velvet cloth. He, revealing two small crests, soon removed the veil. Flowers and vines engraved in gold intertwined around and above the inscriptions written in silver on the two wooden crests that were handed over to Sherlock and John by Ferdinand. The flashing of the cameras and applauses continued as the two stood straight, both maintaining small polite smiles in front of the crowd.

“The Roseberys Fine Art Auctioneers Company expresses their heartiest gratitude to Mister Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. Without their keen efforts and great skills, we wouldn’t have been able to acquire the artifact and perhaps, it would be on the black market by now.” Ferdinand let out a grin. “Thanks to: England’s Hat Man and Robin.”

        A jolly laughter echoed back and forth the hall as he said the last words. While John managed a small grin to join the others, Sherlock looked around him maintaining a bright, fake smile.

 

The rest of the program went on without any inconvenience. A few more officials were to deliver short speeches including Mycroft, about not only the robbery of the particular artifact but also the present situation in London concerning both local and international crimes and the ways to deal with them all through cooperation and zero tolerance towards the outlaws.

It was more than two months since the dinner incident when John had to leave him alone to dine in respond to Mary’s phone call but it was still fresh in his head. For some unknown reason, he did not succeed in deleting that incident from his ‘hard drive’. When they all sat down for dinner, the memory just appeared before him out of nowhere. John was sitting beside his wife across him, pity that the detective could not manage a seat beside his old mate. Beside him sat a young woman in red who somewhat seemed like an awkwardly familiar face. Sherlock exchanged a few glances with the woman from time to time, sometimes smiling, sometimes not.

What pined Sherlock the most was John sitting across him, smiling and talking with the other diners around him, not having the slightest idea of the man staring at him oh, very often. For most of the times, the two used to have seats beside each other when Sherlock used to ramble on with his assumptions and John used to play the good listener and sometimes asking questions in the middle, a boost to the thinking process at times.

_He is just enjoying the dinner, why there’s nothing wrong when he’s happy. However, he’s sitting with his girlfriend, or if I might say, fiancée. What’s so wrong if he gets to sit with his fiancée?_

 

The stupid words of his own voice kept running for a while before the woman sitting on his right interrupted him. He already thought of attempting to remember the woman but the thoughts just got ahold of him before doing so. She smiled politely at Sherlock before speaking up first.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Holmes. Back from the dead.”

Sherlock could not think of a proper answer than thanking her politely in return while beholding her face.

       

_The marks on the forearms- she has been typing on the desk in much hurry, putting too much pressure while doing so. Nicely done nails, recently treated but the skin on the other side still has traces of the marks due to all the writing. Gray eyes, brown hair but dyed blonde, that gaze…That journalist!_

“Kitty,” the woman let out a small smirk before sipping from her glass of water.

“Riley.” Sherlock finished with the last name. “Seems like you’ve made your way up to a position since the last time I encountered you.”

“Two years ago in the flat of Richard Brook, yes.” She said the name with a slight more pressure and smiled at him. “I was hoping to surprise you but you’ve caught me already.”

“The hairstyle, moreover, the entire attitude has gone through some changes although I would say you’re still the same.”

Miss Riley let out a small chuckle before concentrating on her meal once again. “The Guardian.” She eventually spoke again.

“Hmm…” Sherlock nodded a little, not very impressed. He did not really expect to see her there- the truth despite his indifference to what she had been saying.

The two of them remained quiet for the rest of the time. He was annoyed, much more than the last time when he was standing and listening to the chattering of his brother.

After the dinner, they were to attend a performance of the London Symphony Orchestra. It was obvious that the guests danced in couples along with the marvelous music on the background. The detective stood on a corner of the hall, watching the couples dance throughout the hall. His gray eyes did not miss some of the dancers whom he had made assumptions about- especially the son of Captain Phillips and the personal secretary. The old man was engaged in a conversation across the hall with Mycroft that prevented him to have a look at the couple.

His pupils kept flying around in search of that one couple-John and Mary. At last, he found the two dancing in the middle of the floor, right above the chandelier.

        At the precise moment of spotting the two, the mild sarcasm that was gracing his face earlier disappeared and his face turned blank once again. Wait; was it really the same emotionless face of his? No. He was trying not to let the sudden attack of sadness or disappointment take over his face. He stood still, staring at the couple. They seem happy, very happy although their dancing was comparatively slow than the other couples but still, they are enjoying. His eyes kept looking at his old flat mate, wishing if there was a way to spend some time with him.

 

“Would you like a dance?” The voice of Kitty made him avert his gaze from the couple to her.

“No, thank you.” He replied in a dry voice. “Don’t have a partner?”

“Thought it were you.” She replied, still gazing at the man.

“I’m not in the mood of dancing. How about you go talk with that man over there, he might-”

“Mr. Holmes,” the woman moved in front of him, “don’t think that I’m just the same as I was. As you can see, I have worked a lot these two years. I suggest you to stop underestimating me.”

“Still think yourself as the smart one?” Sherlock put on a half smirk whilst saying so.

“I don’t like repeating the same thing over and over but I am not just that typical journalist who is still just in search of the big scoop. I’ve got enough stuff to feed the newspaper with already.”

“Oh, is that so? Then tonight’s dinner and the missing object won’t be out of calculation either.” A soft smirk curved a corner of his lips. “And looks like someone has not stopped dealing with the nasty stuff as well.”

His words made the journalist frown in confusion. How is he supposed to know that part? Apart from the regular work, she tended to keep an eye on all the other subjects, to be more precise; gossips. Some of them preferred to keep silent while others just came up to her, asking to have the topics removed from the highlights. Oh, how she loved to see their faces- all anxious and annoyed.

“Who does not like them? People tend to devour-” She replied with a sly smile.

“I don’t.” Sherlock replied in a firm manner. “As I said, you only tend to say is that you still, repel-”

“Mr. Holmes, don’t make me turn all impolite here. This simply is not fair. Even during the smallest of requirements, I may come in handy.”

Sherlock exhaled softly while averting his gaze, more annoyed than amused now.

“But this is the last time I’m saying this. It does not hurt much to have someone related to the press by your side.”

The women kept gazing into the man’s eyes while he remained with the usual straight face. Only the medley of the Blue Danube Waltz cut through the prevailing silence between the two.

“How about a dance?” Sherlock asked eventually in a low voice.

Replying with a smirk, Kitty Riley took the detective’s hand as he led her in the center of the hall and began to dance in no time.

 

Sherlock led the woman with fine steps along with the Waltz. His dancing skills were splendid, shame that a few of them were aware of it. Besides playing the violin, he always had a thing for dancing despite his standing quietly on most of the parties. He used to find the matter amusing that John was not aware about this trait of his flat mate. There were more traits of Sherlock left which he was yet to discover in fact. After all, not everyone is as observant as Sherlock was; John is definitely not the one to blame.

The main reason why the detective decided to dance with this woman was only to have a better look at all the guests around him. He knew some of them, some were unknown, but his assumptions and quick observation helped a lot to get a primary picture of most of them. He did not miss to have a look at his elder brother who was standing on one side, holding a glass of champagne. Their eyes met for once before Sherlock turned away.

Miss Riley was certainly enjoying the dance. After all, she is dancing with ‘the man beneath the hat’, which was actually quite unexpected for her. She quietly praised herself for succeeding in gaining Sherlock’s attention, completely unaware of the inner boredom and annoyance she was creating inside the man due to her company.

 

John was smiling at Mary as they tread the marble floor with steady steps. He always loved to dance with her. The scenery of the evening when he finally decided to propose Mary is still clear in his mind: she dressed in a violet gown, sitting across him with a lovely smile on her face. He had a number of plans in his head- first the proposal, then dinner together, and then perhaps a dance as well. Mary loves to be romantic. However, all the thoughts were dashed in a flash as the annoying chatter of the French waiter interrupted him at the precise moment he was about to ask her if she would marry him. The aftermath was not a very pleasant one since that chap turned out to be his best friend, his flat mate; the detective who jumped off a roof and killed himself.

 

        Not dead.

 

What did John feel at that moment? When the ever-mysterious man stood in front of him with a fake mustache, trying his best to convince and ease up the doctor with an apologetic voice and small, nervous smiles. When he wiped off the marks in order to reconfirm his existence and asked John if his would wipe off as well. Certain, he was unsure whether to laugh or to cry. Whether he should hug the tall man or punch him on the face.

He was rather angry, disappointed, and sad than being delighted to see him at that moment. Why should he? How he grieved, how he cried, how he prayed and wished for Sherlock to return for once more- to him. How he wanted to see the tall, skinny figure pacing across the room and asking him for a case. On the other hand, he kept fleeing from one place to another time-to-time, faking identities, lurking in the woods, searching for underground organizations and connections.

        One call, just one phone call; all he wanted to hear was his voice and that could have been enough. At least he wouldn’t have moved out of 221B. He would, if Sherlock wanted him to do so.

 

John did not miss to notice Sherlock dancing with another woman while he was about to twirl his fiancée. He could not but become surprised to see the hat man participating on a waltz, especially with that woman. He never understood Sherlock’s motives clearly, until the detective himself made a clearance. The music was still flowing through the hall when Sherlock finally asked his dancing partner to come to a halt. Plainly thanking the journalist for her company, he walked out of the floor and returned to the same old place he had been standing a few minutes ago, leaving the disappointed journalist behind.

All the guests agreed that the Orchestra did a wonderful performance, except Sherlock. He did not miss to notice the smallest mistakes made by the man who was playing the flute, not even of the woman who missed a minor part with her cello during the second verse, even though it was not traceable at all because her fellow musicians backed her up. That was one of his qualities besides being a man of logic- classical music enthusiast with fair amount knowledge on different musicians and their works, which are, even after so many decades, admired and praised by a good number of critics and listeners.

 

“I would like to ask our detective for a small favor, and also hope that he would comply with the request, would you please perform for us before we finally come to an end of this function for the night? I have been acknowledged about your skills of playing the violin.”

The crowd fell into a silence all on a sudden as everyone stared at the detective who was standing beside his brother at that moment.

“Oh, he would love to.” Mycroft replied with a beaming face.

“I was about to say yes anyway.” Sherlock mumbled, addressing his brother whilst leaving him behind.

A violin was already prepared on the stage for the detective to perform. The crowd stood in silence and watched the tall, slender figure of the Hat Man find its way to the stage and pick up the instrument with ease. Sherlock always preferred to play Bach- for most of the part, the ones which made others sad and helped him to grow thoughtful. But tonight, he decided to play something different. Something…nice.

He placed his fingers steadily on the strings and soon, notes of music started to fill the silent atmosphere.

Melancholia and glee, with a fine essence of romance- perfect way to express one’s sentimental thoughts. A lover pining for that one special person, or the heart burning in the flames of unrequited love; no matter which one it is, cannot but submit one’s sentimentality to this aesthetic. John stood still, charmed by the magnificent music that filled his ears while a mild smile curved the corner of his lips, and once again, slowly began to cloud his mind with thoughts, memories.

 

The two had to part from each other once the party was over. Now he is lying on the bed with eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling while Mary sleeping peacefully beside him.

Playing the violin at 3am in the night was something he found utterly annoying in the first place. Nowadays, his mind longs for the music often in the long, sleepless nights. Just like this night. They were never a source of headache for John, never an annoyance. It helped his best friend to think, and him, to close his eyes and listen while pretending to be asleep. However, he would soon doze off within a short span of time for most of the part, but he did not mind. They were his lullabies that helped him to fall asleep... However, not tonight.

 

_What is he doing? Is he still awake? Is he playing the violin once again? Lost in his mind palace maybe?_

 

John kept wondering if he ever crossed Sherlock’s mind even for once in the days that have gone by. In addition, the ultimate question- Will he ever be able to listen to Sherlock play the violin in the middle of the night again?

He began to smile out of nowhere while thinking of the evening he had spent with the detective. Moreover, about that particular piece of music he played at the last moment.

 

_What was it again? Ah yes, Tchaikovsky._

 

        At once, he knew what it was. Not only just one of Sherlock’s performances; it was his remedy- a remedy for the doctor himself. His medley, his little night music...

 

 

**(To Be Continued)**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music which Sherlock played at the party is “Valse Sentimentale” by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky  
> Here’s the link, in case you guys want to hear it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUuusqy50yk


	3. A New Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a new case from someone he genuinely had not expected however, things turn out to be quite hazy and unusual fro the detective whilst working on it. Meanwhile, John keeps reminiscing about his old days with the detective and slowly starts to showing hints of his possessive nature.

It was near about nine in the morning when Sherlock was laying on his bed with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Words of different sorts were rambling inside his head on this point, the aftermath of an expected but again, the least expected case he had got himself into early this morning.

            Mary knocked hastily on the door, throwing uncomfortable glances around her as she waited for the landlady to open it. It took a few minutes for Mrs. Hudson to receive the woman with a hint of confusion and surprise.  She had received many clients asking for Sherlock Holmes regardless of the timing but Mary? Why would she arrive in such an odd hour- five in the morn with a pale face? Quickly closing the door, Mary leaned her back on the wall, panting.

“Is everything alright, dear? What are you doing here so early-” The old lady asked in confusion.

“Where’s Sherlock?” She interrupted, trying to catch her breath.

“He’s probably asleep now. But what’s the matter? Is John alright?”

Mary suddenly realized that she had been far too unconscious about her attitude. Before replying anything else, she allowed herself to breathe and calm down. “Oh yes, he’s fine. Don’t worry, Mrs. Hudson, it’s just a case. Quite an urgent one actually, sorry for waking you up.”

With an assuring smile, the blond woman walked upstairs, not allowing the old lady to speak or ask anything further.

          Sherlock groggily sat up on his bed as he heard two female voices flying in from the sitting room. It took him seconds to recognize the speakers while sliding on his robe and walking out of bedroom only to see Mary sitting on John’s armchair with Mrs. Hudson near the door. Seeing Mary sitting alone with a thoughtful expression on her face made Sherlock think of nothing at first but his best friend. “Where’s John?” He eventually asked.

“John’s alright. He’s asleep.” Saying so, Mary looked at the old lady with the corner of her eye.

“Mrs. Hudson, why don’t you go get some sleep?” Sherlock spoke in a normal tone.

“Alright, alright.” The woman nodded to herself as she turned towards the open door. “Call me if necessary…”

 

Mary remained quiet as Sherlock took his seat on the couch across her and started to examine her face. Fear, anxiety, uncomfortable, insecurity, friend, issues, fidgeting, and palpitation- these were the words and phrases that lingered around the woman like words in a hologram. He wondered if this had anything to do with John. After all, she had been with him for more than two years now, and a few months since they’ve been living together. It undoubtedly is unusual- she here early in the morning. It would be, yes, if it’s… It’s… A case!

“It’s been a few weeks already since the first time. I thought that I’ll be able to handle things by myself but...”

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, waiting for the woman to continue.

“The next morning after the dinner party, I saw a man loitering outside from the kitchen window. I took no notice until I realized that the man was actually following me, changing his position every time when I move away, staring at me from the windows of each room. At last, I closed the curtains and sat to have tea with John. After sometime, the bell rang and it was the same man from the streets, asking about a Mrs. Hughes. There was a woman of her name who had recently moved out of the building to Brighton. I was about to approach him on the doorstep but he quickly hurried off downstairs and John closed the door.” Mary stopped, exhaled and then continued once again. “Two days later, I received a poison pen letter which was left near our doorstep on the evening.”

She got out a piece of paper from her pocket and handed over to Sherlock without saying anything further. His eyebrows slowly furrowed as he went through the note which read-

_Katie Hudgens… 21 st of March._

“Where did you find this?” He asked in a low tone, not averting his stare from the neatly typed words.

“It was folded inside the envelope with the letter.”

“Where’s the letter now?” Sherlock asked, scrutinizing the woman.

“I forgot to bring it here, it’s inside my drawer.” Mary replied dryly.

“We’ll have to see the letter first. The envelope didn’t have any address or anything, did it?”

“No, just blank.”

“Do you have the envelope?”

“No, I threw it away. Was I supposed to…?”

Sherlock did not utter a word. His chin was resting upon his fingers. Eyes still, calm attitude- indicators of his thinking process. Miss Morstan shifted uncomfortably in her seat while looking around. She herself was nervous and also, a little embarrassed due to all the inconveniences she had caused to the dwellers of 221B. The clock of her phone reminded her that it was about 6am and she could do nothing but only hope for her fiancé to remain asleep.

John was lying in his bed, fast asleep. On the end table lay a gun, fully loaded, a knife on his right side where his fiancée would lay. She had taken every step as a part of the precaution in order to keep him safe, for her husband he had not the slightest idea about what was going on.

“You haven’t told John, have you?”

“No, I don’t want him stepping into this nuisance.” She looked at the man sitting across her. “Will you help me, Sherlock, please?”

“But he deserves to know what’s going on and one way-”

“I don’t want, to endanger his life, Sherlock!” Mary interrupted desperately.

The detective thought for a moment on his own. “Hmm, be careful on the road.”

Soon as he saw Mary disappearing round the corner of the street, he closed the curtains and landed on his bed once again. Not to sleep; to think.

            

         _Katie Hudgens, businesswoman, died mysteriously seven years ago on 21 st March. Family says it was suicide but sources claim it as a murder. Lived alone, unmarried, aged 40. What has this to do with Mary…?_ Sherlock went on whilst going through all the information of the woman spoken of, thanks to Lestrade for leaving his sleep and working on right away.

 

“The letter, where is it?” Sherlock asked while looking around the sitting room of the house with Mary following him.

“I don’t seem to find it.” She replied in a dry voice, her pupils wandering around as well.

Furrowing, Sherlock turned on his back to face her. “What do you mean? You’re supposed to keep it somewhere safe…”

“I searched every corner, every drawer, and it’s nowhere to be seen.”

After a span of twenty minutes searching around the apartment for that piece of paper, Sherlock pulled to an end. “Unless... John has it with him.” The Detective glanced at her; never had he seen Mary so anxious.

“John’s in his chamber now, I called him a while ago. He didn’t say anything about the letter, sounded rather normal.”

“Did you leave the house?”

“Yes, but not for long. I had to go get some things hence walked down to the departmental store on the opposite street. Just for fifteen minutes or so.” Replied Mary.

“That’s enough time for someone to enter and get the thing he wants. Did you see any sign of breaking in? Any of your belongings misplaced?”

“Not that I know of. Even the locks were in place as well everything indoors.”

Sherlock frowned at her. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Otherwise, I would’ve had noticed…”

He sat down on a couch, once again lost in deep thoughts. It can be anywhere, anyone may have it. But what was more important… “What exactly was written in that letter?” He muttered, barely audible for a normal person but not for Mary. Not during this moment of desperation for a single piece of paper.

“Names.” Mary replied in a haste, looking away. “Names of a few people who were in my life before I met John. Which is why I don’t want that read by him. It’s gonna ruin everything.” She was so close to breaking down in tears. “After all we’ve been through; and now that we’re here… I don’t want my past to ruin my present.”

The Detective stared along, carefully listening to his best friend’s fiancée. He opened his mouth to ay something but once again got interrupted.

“I don’t want things get ruined for me, and that’s why, I’ve come to ask you for help. You must help me to-”

“Mary, listen to me” he leaned forward, “John is someone who won’t be judging you by your past, but your present. Trust me, he will. And I too, can help him understand the whole thing… I”

“You don’t understand, Sherlock.” Mary shook her head, eyes welling with tears. “It’s… It’s about my personal life and it really had been awful for me and a matter of embarrassment as well. The last thing I would want for is John knowing about it…. Please, Sherlock, you’ve got to-”

At the precise moment, the front door crackled and slowly was opened from the outside, it was John. The very sight of him made both the detective and his fiancée stop in an instance.

“Hey, Sherlock?” The doctor blinked a few times, puzzled. “What’s happening? Is everything alright, Mary?” He slowly approached a few steps forward, closer to the duo.

“Everything’s fine, John. Mary was talking about her plan of going on a trip, we three of us and kept insisting over and over again.” Replied Sherlock with something barely resembling a smile, on his lips accompanied with calm and influencing tone of speaking. “She even wanted to surprise you.” The smile became quite visible by now. “Am I not right, Mary?”

“Yeah, well, now that you’ve already said it out aloud.” Mary grinned softly at John. “How about a visit to Richmond Park? Hills, woodlands, trees – a perfect place for sightseeing.”

“And deer too.” John chuckled, receiving a frown from Sherlock in return.

“What?”

“Oh and don’t forget your hat there.” Mary joined her fiancé’s jolly laughter.

“Hmm…” Sherlock puckered his lips, looking at the floor as if he had something more interesting there.

“So, where exactly are we going there?” Asked John.

“Tomorrow sounds wonderful. Doesn’t it, Sherlock?” Mary chimed.

“Tomorrow?” Sherlock replied almost instantly, suddenly averting his eyes from John to her.

“Yeah, sure. And besides, it’s going to be weekend. I’ll have my day off as well.” John glanced at the one in dark trench coat.

“I’ll try to make it out.” The detective murmured.

“Oh come on now, Sherlock. Just one day, spare it!” Mary patted his shoulder as Sherlock replied with a quick ‘fake’ smile.

 

                                                                                                       __________________________

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to? I mean, we can postpone it, you know… If it’s something serious.” John furrowed his eyebrows.

“Oh no no no, it’s alright.” Sherlock said in a typical voice. “You guys go and have fun, Lestrade seems to keep a case on store, and it’s quite something. I’d rather stay here and go on with it.”

John remained silent, blinking. His face straight, bearing somewhat of a skeptical expression. “You’re lying.”

“Of course I’m not _lying.”_

“No, don’t. Don’t do that; you are lying, Sherlock. There’s something going on, isn’t it? And you don’t want me to know that.”

“To be frank, John, you sound quite possessive.” A chuckle could be heard from the other side of the phone. Sherlock truly was trying to be amusing.

John bit his bottom lip for a second or two before letting out a small, suppressed laughter.

“I’m not lying to you, John. It Is a case and I really do apologize for not being able to join you two. Perhaps next time.”

“What’s wrong? What’s keeping him occupied? We’re gonna be late…” Mary shook her head, speaking whilst getting inside the car after placing her handbag on the backseat.

“He isn’t coming.” John mumbled, still holding the phone in his ear.

“What do you mean, he isn’t coming?” Mary dilated her pupils, snatching the phone from her fiancé. “Sherlock? Yeah, but-” A deep sigh of disappointment escaped under her breath. “I thought we talked about this yesterday…. Then what happened…..Fine. Oh yeah, we’ll have lots of fun, without you.” With a small chuckle afterwards, she hung up.

“It’s Sherlock we’re dealing with here.”

“The Crime-Solving Junkie.” She remarked, bringing up another smile of amusement out of John as she got ahold of the steering wheel and soon, drove themselves away to their destination.

 

Sherlock threw the phone beside him as he lay in his bed. It was near about nine in the morning and Missus Hudson will be arriving just after a few minutes with his tea, a morning ritual somewhat.

_Tea is always good. Clears up the junk and enables to store new data…._

The detective could not but sigh at the thought of John and Mary spending their weekend together in Richmond. It seemed as if he himself avoided the trip on purpose; but it was not like that, was it? Of course he had reasons… Many reasons.

One, certainly he did not want to ruin the case he had taken.

Two, seeing John with his _fiancée_ was something… something he… Oh well, better leave that to be on its own.

“It’s sensitive. Dangerous.” Sherlock muttered to himself, not even sure why he had to do that out aloud. But at least no one had heard him, that’s a relief. And besides, his tendency to remain addicted to murders and cigarettes are the loopholes.

                       The Hat Man gets away.

Although he ought to admit that it was a close call, very close. John had almost caught him lying; somehow that doctor managed to do so; sometimes in the very beginning, sometimes in the end, and sometimes, not at all. Which always reminded him of that one incident which he had to suffer quite a loss for; stupid that he was. But he is not stupid, never was he. Always had some reason or logic behind every of his task.

                        The Hat Man gets away anyway.

Mary had left a copy of the key to the front door. She already had known what would be happening, and besides, the letter was something essential in order to make some progress on the case. The detective soon discovered himself surrounded by various _homey_ objects, unlike his scaffold-ish place; another reason why John is to be happier and more comfortable than his days in 221B. His hunt for the letter began right away – drawers, cupboards, underneath the bed, living room, kitchen, even the coat pockets. Nothing was left to be searched yet no sign of that particular piece of paper; instead, he acquired a photo frame containing a picture of the two. Judging by John’s facial hair growth, it was taken almost a year ago. The time when the detective was still acknowledged to be deceased.

Sherlock stared at the frame, a corner of his lips crooking ever so small to form a smile although it did not succeed quite neatly. A sigh, barely audible, escaped as he placed it back on the end table and turned around to have a look at the rooms in front of his eyes, everywhere but nowhere, it would be pointless and a wastage of time if searched once again. The detective found himself a seat on one of the dining chairs, elbows resting upon the hard surface of the table whilst the right thumb and index finger fidgeted, touching his thin lips now and then.

_Where could it be?_

He wondered, looking around the kitchen. A couple of sticky notes were still stuck up to the door of the refrigerator with Mary’s handwritings which were thoroughly examined by him at the time being. He moved away, saving the handwriting pattern in his hard drive, toward the window and that is when, he came to notice something. A man, probably around his thirties, dark hair, tanned skin, high likely an Indian, was standing near the superstore entrance. He looked up, only to catch the sight of the curtains, no figure. Sherlock peeked once again; the man doesn’t seem to move at all. After few more minutes, the man walked away to the left, which means the windows in the living room. The detective once again, snuck up on the man, the curtains doing him a favor due to being closed; making it easier for him to keep an eye out without being detected.

“So it’s you, the stalker.” Sherlock muttered, gawking on the Indian who was now walking across the street, probably returning for the time being.

“Sherlock would look adorable standing there, with those deer on the background.”

“He’d look ridiculously hilarious, believe me.” John laughed.

“He should’ve come, you know. Why didn’t you try convincing him? You’re the one who knows him well after all, wasn’t there any other way to distract him from the case just for a day?”

John exhaled softly. “He’s obsessed with it, perhaps a murder case. He loves murders…”

“Still, it would be nice to have him around here.”

“Well, for now it’s just the two of us.” Doctor Watson smiled, cuddling Mary. “Let’s just enjoy the time here.”

Of course, enjoy the time. But who else than God above and John himself knew how his heart was into the case file and the thrill of the chase that precise moment…

Back on 221B, Sherlock sat in his armchair in a manner perfect enough to make an outsider mistake him to be fast asleep. He had taken the duty to follow the Indian guy  for quite some time, watching him shopping groceries, buying tools from a pawn shop, bred from the bakery and then unfortunately, vanishing amidst the public near St. James Square. Of course he had to be good enough with his skills to trick the eye of a detective, a hunter of criminals.

His eyes and ears all over the city – The Homeless Network, were already assigned to keep an eye of a man with matching description. But now what he was more in need of, a quiet thinking place to ponder on without interruption. Had Missus Hudson been home, he would have asked her to not let the ‘clients’ enter directly and invade his personal space.

“What if this is not the one whom Mary spoke of…?”

It was legit for him to think so; she had not been very generous when it came to sharing information on the stalker or the letter. Moreover, she claims that the letter is lost, which is not out of the probability to become a lie. Mary is capable of lying and is cunning enough to mask it without any struggle at all. He knew liars pretty well; sadly, the truth was, his best friend’s fiancée was one of them. But if it were a lie, and if everything here was really not the true case at all, then why would Mary come asking for his help?

_There must be something, anything behind this false alarm. If, it is false… IF…_

But again, Mary may not be as bad as he would probably think her to be; perhaps it’s him who’s being overreacting to things nowadays. **_Sensitive things._** For once, he thought of calling Mary, but came to a halt immediately when he remembered John was accompanying her. Although John remaining in the dark was something he did not like, perhaps time will only reveal the truth. The Big Truth which our Mister Holmes have been in search of.

 

Mary, on the other hand, was having a quality time with John in the Richmond Park – just a few meters away from the Pen Ponds as well as Richmond Park. They went to visit Pembroke Lodge, the old Georgian mansion and had lunch in the gardens which offered the most breathtaking views from there. It was truly beautiful, spending the moments of her lifetime in such a wondrous place with the person she loved and cared for the most. They even rode on horseback and John enjoyed fishing in the ponds, although his patience soon wore off and couldn’t catch a single fish, unfortunately. Even fishing reminded him of Sherlock. That man perhaps, had all the patience and skill in the world when it came to this subject; something apart from detective work. He even once talked about fishing, how he was the one catching most of the fishes in a short amount of time, leaving the others startled on one of his visits to a certain lake which John could not remember the name of at the present.

Even amongst all the fun and beauty, Mary could not get the thought of the ‘case’ she has offered to Sherlock. He had the spare key and probably had been finished checking the apartment. Question was, what did he find?

Seeing John occupied in a conversation with a woman who took care of the horses, Mary reached her phone and dialed Sherlock’s number.

“Tell me, what was the man’s complexion? The one who was stalking you.” Sherlock asked on a point. He had not been revealing too much to her.

“A Caucasian. Blond. Not too old at age, preferably a young adult…. Why? Have you found him?” Mary frowned.

“No, not  yet, I didn’t spot anyone loitering around, nor matching your details. I’ll let you know if I find something.”

“Okay.”

“And, Mary…?” Sherlock hesitated for a brief moment. “How’s John doing?”

“Oh he’s fine.” She smiled. “We’re about to go to the golf course now, I’ll talk later.”

“Alright, bye.”

At the precise moment the detective had placed the phone on the coffee table, the landlady popped her head through the slightly opened door. “There’s a client waiting for you downstairs.” Her thin pitched voice spoke.

“Send her upstairs.” Came in the brief reply.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for being so late in publishing this new chapter. Life has not been permitting me to work on my writings and of course, I have been lazy myself ^^' Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, I just wanted to make a thing clear for all of you. The part where Sherlock mentions about him posing as an addict is NOT the scene from 'His Last Vow' of s3. Definitely not, since John and Mary not married yet. This is another time, the frst time she saw him in such state and it's all just the part of the story.  
> Thank you :)


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